


Strings of Fate

by Kaerith



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Imprisonment, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26970493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaerith/pseuds/Kaerith
Summary: When Nicolò realized that his crusade was just an excuse to kill and plunder a city, he decides that the least he can do to atone for his actions is to save a young boy. This decision drastically alters his life.Featuring jinn!Andy, feral!BB Yusuf, and himbo!Nicolò.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 16
Kudos: 141





	Strings of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Someone came up with a djinn prompt on Discord and this happened. If the original promoter wants to remind me who they are, let me know!

Nicolò had thought it was the right thing. They had told him that the people of Kang Diz Huxt were led by Zahhāk, a king of pure evil. They were heathens who slaughtered children and kept private brothels of the prettiest girls and forced them to do unspeakable acts of filth and degradation. But as he watched the men he had thought of as brothers rampage and pillage and slay every person without question he realized that he had been fooled. 

Between the shouts and sobs he heard a young panicked voice and this just ignited the fury inside of him to an inferno. He searched for the innocent who must have made that sound and found a boy cowering in the corner of a room from one of Nicolò’s own horde. The child’s visible fear only became more plain as he saw Nicolò’s sword— already dripping with the blood of men whom he had cut down for trying to protect this city— stab the first Zenouan expertly between a gap in his armor. When the corpse fell Nicolò knew he wouldn’t be understood or be any sort of a comfort, but he held a hand out to the boy and said, “Stay here,” as soothingly as he could before he stationed himself outside the front door. 

His guilt and rage felt useless, and he was torn between guarding the house with the boy and trying to find others to save, but his horde was too large and fire was spreading in a nearby section of the city. After an hour it threatened the house and Nicolò knew he had to try to get the boy to move. 

The child was already watching him warily from the doorway between rooms and cautiously approached when Nicolò beckoned. When his dark eyes saw the smoke and flames, the child nodded and said something that sounded like a question. Nicolò tried to make his mind work through his fear and exhaustion and squatted down. 

“You and I,” he said, gesturing to both of them, “Need a safe place to hide-“ he put his arms over his head protectively- “and food and water.” He mimed eating and drinking. 

The boy was clever. He nodded, but it was with a hesitation that seemed to convey his reluctance to trust Nicolò more than a lack of understanding. Nicolò wasn’t sure how he could show the boy that he wasn’t out to harm him until an idea crossed his mind. It was probably stupid: if he gave his knife to the boy, he might try to murder him. But he would be justified in doing so and Nicolò could go on to the next life comforted that the boy at least had the grit to defend himself. 

He put one hand out in a “wait” gesture then set down his sword so he could pull out his longest knife and offer the handle to the boy. It was large in the child’s hand but the boy held it in a firm grip and his solemn eyes seemed to understand all that Nicolò giving him the knife symbolized. Now armed with the knife, the boy stood back and pointed on a direction away from the fire. Nicolò nodded, grabbed his sword, and then got to his feet to follow. 

He had to kill half a dozen men as they left the city, his former compatriots who were crusted with drying blood and laden with stolen goods. The boy grabbed a sack and a few items from the thieves’ arms, and led Nicolò outside the city walls to a small stable. He picked up what looked like a bundle of straps and wood before leading Nicolò back outside where he whistled at a herd of camels. One made its way over and the boy patted it and held out the contraption to Nicolò. 

Nicolò could only make a rather embarrassed gesture of “I don’t know how.” He had seen these animals-- so lanky and ungainly and _mean_ compared to horses, but hadn’t ever ridden one. The boy almost smirked in his pride at learning that he had at least one skill this grown-up barbarian lacked, and he set down the knife and bag and harnessed the camel mostly by himself with Nicolò’s help holding straps in place before they were secured. 

The boy tied the bag to the wooden piece and then sat towards the animal’s neck and gestured behind him. Nicolò mounted it and then the boy commanded the camel with words and movements and the beast lurched itself to its feet. 

The boy pointed in a direction and said something and Nicolò just nodded; at least the kid had a plan. Nicolò just wanted to get away from the nightmare of the the burning, bloody city and his people who had sacked it and maybe protect this child until he was safe. 

The ride was uncomfortable. The camel’s gait was strange, and when he and the boy took a break to piss and Nicolò tried to makes friends with it, the beast had almost bitten his hand off. The boy laughed at Nicolò’s display of annoyance and it finally made him feel a positive and almost friendly connection to the kid. 

They stopped before dusk at a small settlement. Nicolò expected the handful of people there to grab him and put him to the sword, but the boy seemed to be defending him with a strident voice. From his position a dozen or so paces away, near (but not too near) the camel, Nicolò deliberately set his weapons on the ground then stepped away and began to remove his armor. The boy sprinted back to him and hissed at Nicolò in what seemed to be anger. "Stupid!” The kid said, amidst other sounds Nicolò didn’t know. “Stupid beast!” And the boy slapped his arm. 

Nicolò stopped stripping himself in surprise. The boy must have a keen ear to have picked up those words he had said to the camel a while ago. He had to sit down and laugh while the boy crossed his arms and scowled for as long he could before he joined in. 

“Stupid beast,” he repeated again, in a calmer manner. He indicated Nicolò’s sword and armor and them Nicolò himself. “Stupid beast [something],” he said carefully and then he indicated to the others who were watching them with bemusement and said, “Stupid beast [something else],” in an exaggerated tone of worry. 

Nicolò blinked. It seemed like the boy was trying to communicate that he trusted Nicolò more than the others. And that they should be wary of them. But first he decided to take the opportunity to set something straight. “Nicolò,” he said, pointing at himself. “Nicolò,” he repeated, then pointed at the camel. “Stupid beast.” Then back at himself. “Nicolò.” 

The boy nodded with sparkling humor on his face and repeated his name. “Nicolò. Yusuf,” he added, pointing at himself. 

Nicolò smiled. “Yusuf. Water?” He asked, making a drinking motion. 

Yusuf urged him to rearm himself before he led him to a well. Nicolò thanked him when Yusuf handed him a drinking vessel to dip into the bucket of drawn water. 

“Kill or fuck boy?” One of the men said in Nicolò’s own language, heavily accented. 

“No,” Nicolò growled, turning and scowling at him. 

“Boy is lying shit,” the man said with a shrug. “Mongrel,” and then he spat out another word that Yusuf obviously understood and took offense to, as he pulled out the knife Nicolò had given him and made a move toward the speaker. 

Nicolò held Yusuf back, saying his name until the boy finally looked at Nicolò. “Stupid beast, hmm?” He said, with a half-smile and a tilt of his head to indicate the offender. 

Yusuf relaxed and stopped pushing against Nicolò’s hold. “Stupid beast,” he agreed, sprinkling in what sounded like expletives and spitting toward the man. 

* * *

They were set upon during the night. They had camped a good distance away and Nicolò had been alert, but he had not been able to take them all down before he was stabbed in the gut. He fell to his knees, still impaled, and watched as Yusuf tried to stave off the men with Nicolò’s knife and panic in his eyes. There was a sudden concussion of air that came out of nowhere and blasted them all to the ground, and Yusuf was the first to spring up, miraculously uninjured, and he howled as he stabbed the groaning men one by one. He was crying and breathing in sobs when he came to kneel next to Nicolò. He reached for the hilt of the blade embedded in Nicolò’s body before the man hissed a warning. The boy scrambled over to his bag of things next to the camel’s tack and he pulled out and lit a lamp he had brought from Kang Diz Huxt and brought it back over to illuminate the damage to Nicolò. 

Nicolò was clearly dying. “Nicolò,” Yusuf said, before he sniffled and said something longer in a pleading voice. 

Nicolò moved a hand from his bleeding stomach and tried to put it on Yusuf’s to comfort him, but it slipped and smeared blood into the bronze lamp the boy was holding. Yusuf wiped it off. 

There was another burst of mystical force and a woman appeared. She had pale skin like Nicolò, was leanly muscled, and had ancient eyes. “You two took long enough to release me,” she said, sounding almost annoyed. “But I like you both and gave you a freebie.” 

Nicolò and Yusuf met each other’s eyes in mutual astonishment. “A ‘freebie?’” Nicolò said. 

“Two,” the woman said, snapping her fingers. “But don’t tell anyone.” 

“Tell anyone what?” Yusuf asked. “What?” He repeated when he noticed Nicolò’s odd look. 

“I understand you,” Nicolò said. 

“That’s good,” Yusuf said, then he turned back to the woman. “Thank you. But, please, I don’t want him to die. Can you help me?” 

“I’m a jinn,” she said. “Make a wish.” 

“I wish Nicolò won’t die,” Yusuf said. 

Nicky was immediately taken over by the uncomfortable and indescribable sensations of his body trying to knit itself back together. 

“Take the sword out,” the jinn-woman suggested. Yusuf did, carefully, and they watched Nicolò’s mortal wound undo itself. 

“Thanks. Do you have a name?” Nicky said when he could breathe normally again. 

“Andromache. You can call me Andy, though.” 

“Thank you Andy,” Yusuf said, wiping the traces of tears from his face. “For some reason I like this idiot, even though he was part of the barbarian horde that slaughtered my city.” 

That just reminded Nicolò of everything that happened before their escape and eventful night. “I’m sorry,” he said to Yusuf. “I never thought they— we— would be like that. They told me we were going to liberate the people in Kang Diz Huxt from Zahhāk.” 

“Zahhāk’s people had been overthrown about five years ago,” Yusuf said, justifiably irritated. “My parents died in that revolt. The new king had brought more peace and prosperity. Things were good before you westerners decided to attack us for no reason except greed.” 

Nicolò just nodded, contrite, and knew there was nothing he could do to atone for being part of that destruction and injustice. “The least I could do was help get you out of there. Be a protector until you got to safety.” 

“You need your own protector,” Yusuf scoffed. “Taking off your armor because you couldn’t recognize slaving thugs.” 

Nicolò was very belatedly alarmed. “You might have a point. Maybe I should head back home. Do you have anywhere to go?” 

Yusuf shook his head. “I have only been down this road toward Rûm once. I do not know if I have any other family.” 

“Where would you like to go? To do?” Nicolò asked. 

“Learn,” Yusuf said. “I have heard that there is another city, Markanda, that is famous for its scholars. Even if I don’t have the money and status to become a student, I might like to go there. Maybe I can find a way to read the scrolls and books they have there in the famous library.” 

“Did you forget about me?” Andy said wryly. “All you need to do is make a wish and you can be a student of great importance.”  


The four of them entered Markanda looking very different than the Zenouan invader, orphaned boy, jinn, and scruffy camel they had been. The camel had undergone the least amount of change as it simply looked well-groomed and appointed with lavish saddlery. Yusuf, seated on top, was the picture of the son of a wealthy lord. Andy and Nicolò were credible bodyguards of western complexions and the mistrustful eyes of servants who were devoted to their job. 

Magically, Andy had a house and three servants waiting to serve Yusuf, and Yusuf’s invitation to the academy of arts were addressed to him and waiting on a table. 

“How did you do this?” Nicolò said, fingering the fine material with calligraphied text that he couldn’t read. 

“I just manipulated the threads of Fate,” she said. “Put Yusuf in the place of another boy much less deserving of his status. That boy was destined to grow up ungrateful of his blessings and murder many people. The new weaving of history will be stronger with Yusuf in his place.” 

“Can you see the future?” Nicolò asked. 

Andromache only gave a hint of a cryptic smile and said nothing more.  


When the weather was at its best for traveling, Nicolò prepared to leave Markanda to return west to Zenoua. Yusuf was busy and excited by his life here spent learning, and Andy had promised that her string of Fate was to protect Yusuf until he was a capable adult. “Even after he makes his last wish,” she said, “We will be like family.” 

Nicolò’s heart ached in happiness and he clutched at Andy’s hand. “Thank you so much. I have no place in his life now and I feel like I will only make him remember terrible things.” 

“That will not be true forever,” she said. “He thinks of you fondly as more than the invader who saw the error of his ways and chose to rescue one boy at nearly the cost of your life.” 

Nicolò shrugged modestly. “Just tell me that he will be loved and have a family and that is all I could ever ask in return.” 

“We are already a family,” Andy said. “And he will be loved fiercely and for eternity by a person who regards him worth more than wealth or power.” 

Nicolò smiled. “I am happy that you consider him family and it relieves me that Yusuf will be treasured the way he deserves.” 

All that was left after Andy easing Nicolò’s fears was to say his farewell to Yusuf. He caught the boy in the courtyard reading in the morning light, his dark head bent over a scroll as his clever eyes deciphered the inked marks. 

“Time for me to leave,” Nicolò said. 

Yusuf looked up and grinned mischievously. “Have you changed your mind about taking the camel?” 

Nicolò made a funny face just to make the kid laugh. “You can keep _that_ stupid beast. _This one_ is getting out of your way.” That term had been a frequent joke between them, even though they could both magically could speak each other’s native languages. 

“You could stay,” Yusuf said, again, even though he knew repeating it for the dozenth time wouldn’t make Nicolò change his mind. 

The man walked closer and ruffled Yusuf’s hair, though the dense curls never moved much. “You don’t need me here. I miss my home. And you have Andy, and whatever last wish you want to make.” 

The man walked closer and ruffled Yusuf’s hair, though the dense curls never moved much. “You don’t need me here. I miss my home. And you have Andy, and whatever last wish you want to make.” 

“I don’t want to make the last wish,” Yusuf said. “I’m going to do research and find out how I can free her.” 

“You’re very kind,” Nicolò said, crouching down to be at a better height for eye contact. “And wise. You’ll figure it out. And maybe send me a message sometime to let me know how you did it.”  


The journey to Nicolò’s homeland took two months on foot and then one week by ship. He had been attacked by bandits and found that his wounds had healed supernaturally quickly. As the years passed it was also clear that time was not taking a visible toll on his appearance. 

Nicolò took work with the wealthiest men of politics and business, having an uncanny knack at understanding several Eastern dialects as if he was a native speaker, and he was able to glean more subtext from the foreigners than any other translator. He made up histories of himself to explain it because “A jinn made me this way with magic” wasn’t an explanation he wanted to try to sell to anyone who asked. 

He also did some caravan guarding when he got restless. He had survived two more injuries, actually reviving from death on both occasions, to the fear of his companions. 

Nicolò knew he was going to have a strange and lonely life being immortal and aging slowly if at all, but he had hope that eventually he would meet Andromache again and she would be able to answer his questions and allay his fears.  


When Nicolò heard another horde was gathering to go attack Markanda, he was furious. His contacts got him into the room of the war party’s leaders and he told them he had seen how Kang Diz Huxt had been ravaged and demolished for no reason and demanded why they were targeting a city with no reputation of aggression, just one of enlightenment. 

“Enlightenment leads to aggression,” one of the merchants contributing money to the campaign said. “It’s only a matter of time.” 

“Yes, because scholars are so likely to replace scrolls with sabres,” he said sarcastically. 

“No,” one of the pinch-faced old landed men said. “Scholars give the ignorant ideas that are above their station. Suppressing an uprising of thousands of deluded peasants will require many more troops and violence.” 

“But Markanda is so far away! How can words from their scholars reach ears in Zenoua?” 

“Knowledge travels faster than salt,” another merchant said, before they forced him to leave. 

Nicolò was only one man against two thousand. The only advantage he had was that he could travel faster.  


Nicolò was deep in the kingdom of Rûm when his warnings were finally believed. News had indeed spread faster than even one man could travel. When he was taken into an audience with the Amra, however, the leader appeared to have the same opinion as the men of power back in Zenoua. 

The Amra summoned guards. “This man is a spy,” he said. “He is to be locked up and interrogated.” 

Nicolò, horrified, looked around at the Amra’s council for any of those esteemed men to speak up and challenge the lord. They had all heard exactly what the Amra had, but very few met his gaze, and the majority of those were with disinterest or disdain. 

The guards took him into the cold bowels of the palace and shackled him to the wall. When they left they took the torches with them. 

“Who are you?” Said a tired voice from the darkness in the tongue of a Kang Diz Huxt native. 

“Nicolò di Zenoua,” he said. 

“Hmm. Maybe you will survive for another week,” the voice replied. “The Amra will ensure that you will be dead very soon for whatever you did that got you down here.” 

Nicolò smiled grimly to himself. “He can try.” 

There were no visitors. No food or water or light brought down. The voice in the darkness fell silent and Nicolò had no idea if the man was alive or not. He himself felt desiccated and fell into fugues where he imagined Zenoua and Markanda and Yusuf and Andromache. In his moments of clarity he despaired at the endlessness of his thirst and and hunger and blindness. The earth could have moved and entombed the entire kingdom of Rûm for all Nicolò knew, and he would be left here alone and alive for eternity. 

Light after such a long and incalculable time was only a sudden pain that he couldn’t comprehend. He turned his face away. Then there was sound, recognizable: footsteps and metal and stone. 

Something warm on his face, moving it. He didn’t want to move and must have made a noise because the touch was gone, though it was soon replaced by cloth wrapping around his eyes. 

“Water,” he heard, though he could not identify the language. It was delivered to him by the invisible person— a god? A jinn?— and Nicolò began to feel life in his body once again. 

His rescuer unlocked his chains and held him until his muscles could bear his own weight, though balance still eluded him by the time he could finally ask, “Who are you?” 

“They call me Yafah, here. Best not risk any other name for me pass your lips until what sense you have returns. Come, we need to leave.” 

The man led him upwards and eventually outside. It was night, judging from the cool breeze and darkness, and Nicolò was guided to a horse and assisted in mounting. Yafah settled behind him and took the reins. “We need to travel fast and I don’t want to risk you falling off.” 

It was almost too much for Nicolò: the wind in his beard, the movement of the horse, the contrast of the chill at his front and the warmth at his back. Even just the vague sense of space around them made his joints tremble. 

“How long was I prisoner?” 

“Eight days.” 

“And why are you doing this for me?” 

“Because the Amra was a corrupt piece of filth, too cowardly to let a messenger of good intentions walk out from his palace.” 

That wasn’t an answer that provided any satisfaction for Nicolò, but he left it alone so he could focus on the battle of mentally holding himself together. The galloping made his bones feel like they would shake apart, and the queasiness that clenched at his empty stomach had turned into a burning pain. His rescuer must have a reason for traveling so long at such a pace, and he didn’t want to ask for a respite if it would make more trouble for him. 

He decided that he would gamble on removing the blindfold, and the man behind him sputtered as Nicolò’s groping hand accidentally hit him in the face. “I’m sorry,” Nicolò said, and he bent himself forward despite the nausea and unwound the cloth. It was a relief to see stars and the silvered silhouettes of dunes or hills in the gleam of the quarter moon, though even that dim light caused his eyes to water for several moments. 

“There is food in the bag by your right knee,” His rescuer said. The grapes were easy to pick out one-handed and put into his mouth individually, and Nicolò savored the flavor as each one burst on his tongue. 

All he could see of Yafah were his arms clad in fine, dark material and leather gloves. The man had some wealth, and it made Nicolò curious why this man of status had risked the Amra’s retribution to save him. 

“Has your limited intelligence returned to you?” Yafah asked, in a voice that was teasing. 

“What little I have,” Nicolò replied, wondering why this stranger thought he could insult him so. “Have we met?” 

“Many years ago. I am curious if you will recognize me.” 

“How can your horse run for so long at such a pace, yet not show signs of sweat or fatigue?” 

“I am known as a wizard,” the man said with a laugh. “We will be at our destination soon enough.” 

They finally slowed and approached a compound. The gate opened. “You’re late.” 

“My arrival window was two weeks, Lykon, and I have at least four more days,” Yafah said, sounding more amused than annoyed. 

Lykon was a younger man with dark skin and an accent unfamiliar to Nicolò’s ear. “This is him?” He said as he closed the gate again, his smile flashing white in the dark. “Sure he was worth it? Was a lot of trouble-“ 

“Leave my sight," Yafah said with snooty, fake offense. “Ignore him, Nicolò; he likes to tease.” His rescuer dismounted and started leading the horse to a corner of the yard. There were small torches flanking the door of the building that gave very little light to the area, and all Nicolò could make out was a halo of dark hair and robes in the style of the Rûm people. When Yafah helped him down, Nicolò was stiff and sore and tottered on his own feet and he was carefully leaned against a wall as the horse was quickly taken care of. 

He finally got a good look at the man when they entered the house, a whitewashed room with more luxurious furnishings than Nicolò would have guessed. “Oh!” He said in recognition. 

The man who had rescued him was handsome with naturally curly hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and his bright smile contrasted beautifully with skin darker than Nicolò’s. “You were in the Amra’s council!” 

Yafah laughed and his eyes twinkled merrily. “Just the same as you were, Nicolò di Zenoua! A most stupid beast.” 

The familiar taunt made Nicolò examine him with more intent and he found the signs of the boy he had known. “Yusuf? You said your name was Yafah!” Nicolò couldn’t resist embracing the man. Yusuf gratifyingly hugged him back, hard. 

“They called me that, there. I was working for the Amra under false pretenses.” 

“Working?” Another voice questioned sardonically. “You mostly lounged around enjoying the power and prestige.” 

“Andromache!” 

“Nicolò,” she said, looking exactly like she had the last time he had seen her, down to the amused tilt of her mouth. 

Nicolò looked between them, two people he had known so well but for so short a time. “You both look like you have been doing well.” 

“You... not so much,” Andy said, stepping forward to give him a brief hug and then backing away with a wrinkled nose. “You need a bath!” 

“Please,” Nicolò agreed. He had almost forgotten that he was such a mess. 

Yusuf and Andy led him to a set of doors and opened them to reveal a lavish bathing area with a sunken pool full of clear, steaming water. 

“What do you think?” Yusuf said. 

Nicolò scratched his bearded chin. “That is a lot of water for me to use for a single bath.” 

Andy gave him a light shove towards the pool. “Usually we share the water, but I don’t think anyone but Yusuf is going to join you tonight.” 

“The servants must have hauled buckets all day!” 

“No servants,” Yusuf said. “Just magic. It’s fine. Andy, I’ll get him in and start scrubbing him down if you can provide some clean clothes and a light meal.” 

“Should I send in Lykon to help?” Andy said. 

Yusuf just made a dismissive noise and led Nicolò further into the room. “Let’s get these off,” he said, and started to undo the fastenings on Nicolò’s garments. 

“Magic,” Nicolò said, his mind reeling. “You said you are a magician. You were going to free Andy. What did you use your last wish for?” 

“Andy was imprisoned and cursed using her own power,” Yusuf said, pulling off the surcoat and tossing it aside before tackling the ties on Nicolò’s quilted armour. “The only way to fully free her from the constraints of the curse would have been to remove her magic completely. We figured that would be extremely dangerous; not just for her, but the released power could have potentially caused a huge burst of destructive energies that could have leveled Markanda.” He went quiet as he opened the armour and both men recoiled at the stench. 

“Sorry,” Nicolò said, ashamed, pushing Yusuf’s hands away. “Let me do the rest. The dungeon was....” 

“Ey,” Yusuf said soothingly, clasping Nicolò’s hands, “It is fine. I understand. And I am sorry I couldn’t get you out faster.” 

Nicolò cursed and turned his face away. “It was. The worst thing. I _died_. More than once, I think; time was... not there. Oh, did you know that happens, now?” He added with a bitter laugh, “I don’t stay dead.” 

“I panicked when I made the wish,” Yusuf said. “I’m sorry.” 

Nicolò chanced a look and saw that he did look terribly sad. “You were a kid,” Nicolò said. “I don’t blame you.” 

Yusuf stepped away. “I will give you a moment of privacy and check on Andy.”  


“He looks exactly the same,” Andromache said when Yusuf joined her in the cooking area. She had brought up a jug of wine from the cellar and was drizzling oil on a flatbread. “Good news for you,” she added, elbowing him. 

When Yusuf didn’t tease her back she changed the subject. “So. Rûm. How bad did you leave the capital city?” 

“I limited the damage to the palace,” Yusuf said. “Got the servants and craftsmen out before things started.” He got a jar of ground herbs and sprinkled them over the oiled bread. “...That meant I had to leave him in there for eight days. Alone in the dark. _Dying_.” 

“He doesn’t die,” Andy said, though she knew that Yusuf knew that. 

“He does die. Coming back to life doesn’t mean that the suffering and dying didn’t happen.” Yusuf didn’t know if Andromache felt things like a mortal. Both she and Quynh, being born jinns, seemed to have a lack of understanding or regard for pain and trauma. 

Andy huffed a little, signaling her frustration with Yusuf’s insistence and that she was not going to engage in that argument again. “If Nicolò actually holds a grudge against you for that, just explain to him that you had to get the innocent civilians out of the way before you killed the Amra and all his advisors and painted the palace with their blood.” 

When Yusuf made a wordless sound, she turned to look at him and crossed her arms. “You’re not going to tell him,” she said flatly, and rolled her eyes. 

“I’m not who I was,” He said through clenched teeth. 

“Yeah, you’re not ten years old. Obviously.” 

“Not human,” Yusuf corrected her. “And what I have done since leaving Markanda....” 

“Humans can be monsters, too,” Andy said. “Have you forgotten how you even met Nicolò, or have your romantic daydreams over the years rewritten your memories?” 

Yusuf shook his head and picked up the tray. “Bring the wine and cups, please. Let us end this conversation and act normal in front of him.” 

Andy did as asked but had one last thing to say. “He’s not stupid enough to think that our lives have been uneventful and you are still some naive young boy.” 

The Zenouan was sitting neck-deep in the water when they entered the room. “Good?” Andy asked, setting the wine on one edge. Yusuf put the tray of food next to it. 

“It’s nice,” Nicolò replied. “Thank you.” 

“Once you get your hair washed, Yusuf can magic the water clean. Ask him to join you; he loves a long soak in hot water,” Andy said before she left and closed the door behind her. 

Nicolò ducked his head under the water and then stood up to reach for the pot of soap. “Let me help you,” Yusuf said, pushing up his sleeves and rounding the bathing pool. 

“I can do it myself,” Nicolò said, and Yusuf was relieved to hear amusement instead of defensiveness in his voice. 

“I will do a better job,” he said, as he wet his hands before scooping up the soap and making a lather. Nicolò sat back down and leaned his head back to Yusuf with his eyes closed. He did look exactly the same but for the beard and shaggy length of his hair. But Yusuf had forgotten so many of the details of his face, or maybe he had been too young to notice them at the time. He slicked Nicolò’s hair back before he dug his fingers in to rub at his scalp. Had Nicolò’s lips always been that shape and color? Were his eyes green or blue? Yusuf only understood now, when they were together after so long in a well-lit room, how his mental picture of the man had faded and gone fuzzy with time. 

“Magic,” Nicolò said. “You couldn’t remove Andy’s magic, but somehow you have some, too.” 

“I pledged to take half of her curse,” Yusuf said, trying to work gently through a knot in Nicolò’s fine, straight hair. “That has given me some of her magic, and I am part jinn now. The slavery component of the curse, restricting Andy to three wishes of her master’s bidding— Andy had found ways around that a long time ago, and now we find that we can magically fulfill requests from each other. The imprisonment part... both of us are tied to the lamp. Neither of us can travel away from it for very long or very far, unless fulfilling a command.” 

The word “imprisonment,” so soon after Nicolò’s experience, struck a chord inside of him that vibrated with anxiety. “So both of you are tied to the lamp,” Nicolò said, his mouth a bit dry and tone one of forced casualness. 

Yusuf kept working patiently on his hair. “I haven’t been inside of it like Andy has. I think I’m still too human to do whatever she does to fit inside.” He let humour color his voice, well aware that “fitting” did not depend on size but on what Andromache _was._ “But if someone got their hands on the lamp and did to it what someone did to Quynh, I would still be in trouble.” 

“Quynh?” 

“Oh, you’ll meet her. Another jinn like Andy. After we gained her enough freedom, Andy immediately went searching for her. Her vessel was thrown into the ocean, and she was left alone in the water for a very long time. We plan on finding someone to share her curse like Andy and I are.” 

“And Lykon?” Nicolò asked. 

“Andy and Quynh picked him up in their journey back here. He is a formidable warrior. He guards the lamp and Quynh’s _cong_.” 

Yusuf’s voice was easy and warm, so Nicolò understood that he trusted Lykon, but he himself felt a bit wary to have someone he didn’t know hold Yusuf and Andromache’s fates in his hands. 

“Rinse,” Yusuf said, with a pat to the Zenouan’s shoulder. Nicolò sunk down into the water and ran his fingers through his hair to remove the soap. When he emerged he was facing Yusuf who smiled and gave him a wink. “Watch this.” With a motion of his hand the water in the bath spiraled up into the air then began to rain down: gently on Nicolò, but falling in clear sheets around him and refilling the pool with cool, clean water. Once the liquid had settled, Yusuf made a different gesture and the bath warmed up again. Nicolò sighed and sat so he could enjoy being submerged, this time while clean. 

“Have some wine,” Yusuf said, as he began to take off his incredibly fine outer robe. 

Nicolò did as suggested, taking the opportunity to turn his undoubtedly red face away. Yusuf was going to join him in the water. Naked. He was _Yusuf,_ but he was also a very handsome man. 

There were two cups. “Wine for you?” 

“Please,” Yusuf said, and his warm, deep voice and the ripples in the water made Nicolò blush harder because Yusuf was also in the water with him now and so, so close. He filled the second cup and offered it to Yusuf without turning around, feigning interest in examining the food and tearing off a portion of the herbed bread. 

“The four of us plan to stop the Zenouan army. Would you like to help?” 

The sheer insanity of the notion made Nicolò freeze so he could digest this information. “You, Andy, Lykon, and Quynh?” He turned to look at Yusuf in disbelief. He was lounging on the bench with the waterline brushing against his dark nipples, looking powerful and calm and so overwhelmingly strong and masculine that Nicolò’s knees went weak. He never would have imagined that scrawny boy he had known could grow up and have a chest _like that._

“There are over two thousand of them!” He finally gathered his wits to protest. 

Yusuf just shrugged, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “We have magic to even the odds. A display of impossible power or two should make most of them turn around very fast and run back to the port. We likely won’t have to even kill too many.” 

“But they will only return with ten thousand men!” Nicolò said. “This army is mainly volunteers and soldiers bought by merchants. Zenoua’s leaders will force an conscription because the threat of wizards will be more than enough to incite fear and anger.” 

Yusuf lost the sly edge of humour and looked more thoughtful. “Something subtler than just an overwhelming show of force, then.” He shrugged. “We’ll talk about it. How do you like the wine?" 

“It’s, it’s fine,” Nicolò stuttered. “And the food; what are these fruits?” 

“Figs.” 

“Do I need to remove the rind?” 

“You can eat all but the stem,” Yusuf said, and he was suddenly right next to Nicolò, their shoulders brushing, as he picked one of the fruits from the plate. The way he bit into the fig was obscene: the pursing of his lips, the flashing of his straight white teeth, and how his tongue chased after the flesh made Nicolò unable to tear his eyes away from the entire process. Yusuf licked his lips and then held up the half-eaten fruit for Nicolò’s inspection. “Mmm. This is a very good one.” 

Nicolò obediently bit down when Yusuf offered it to him, and his lips brushed his fingertips. He hardly noticed the taste as he chewed and swallowed. Yusuf’s gaze was almost hypnotizing; it was heavy and warm and held an affection for him that Nicolò didn’t quite understand. It was like... Yusuf was seducing him. 

“This is weird, right?” He said, moving away with a bit of a flutter of panic in his chest and sitting down in the water. “When we last saw each other you were so young!” 

“I am not young anymore,” Yusuf said with a meaningful smile. He spread his arms as if Nicolò had somehow managed to ignore his body before this moment. “I would say that we look very close to an age.” 

“And I won’t likely change,” Nicolò added. 

“Neither will I,” Yusuf said. “Has Andy aged? No. All three of us, as well as Quynh, seem to be destined to remain in our prime.” 

Nicolò still shook his head, a little desperately. “You deserve better than someone like me.” 

“I have never wanted anyone else,” Yusuf said simply. “You made a choice the moment you realized the truth of what you had been sent to do in Kang Diz Huxt. You turned your back on everything and everyone you knew because you wanted to do the right thing, with no hesitation. Without your aid, even if I had survived that day, my ensuing life would likely have been even worse than death.” 

“You do not need to repay me,” Nicolò said firmly. “I saved your life and then you saved mine, with Andromache‘s help. There is no debt that forces you to do this.” 

Yusuf moved close to Nicolò and cupped his face in his hands. “No debt, only desire,” he said. “My first awakenings of desire were from dreams of you. By then I couldn’t remember the exact color of your eyes. I have longed for this moment. To be reunited.” 

Nicolò wrapped his hands around Yusuf’s wrists. Arousal, more than he had felt upon first seeing Yusuf standing naked in the water, was low and hot and molten in his core. He trembled with the temptation. Nicolò licked his lips and said, “Andy told me that you would be loved by someone who would treasure you for eternity.” 

“Stupid beast,” Yusuf said with more tenderness and fondness than anyone had ever said anything to Nicolò. “You have already loved me for over twenty years while we were apart. Do you not want to enjoy mutual love now, when we are finally together?” 

Nicolò recalled Andromache’s almost exasperated expression when he had asked for her reassurance that Yusuf would be happy before he left Markanda and realized that she had already known about this future. It had been wise of her to not tell him then, he decided. Now they were meeting again, both adults. Was there any more harm in loving Yusuf than there would be for Nicolò to choose anyone else? 

"I may be clean, but I am otherwise not at my best at this moment," Nicolò said, stroking the scraggly beard that had become unkempt during the last couple of weeks. 

Yusuf stroked his palms over his hair. "You look perfect," he said, his expression incredibly fond and his voice soft. _"Real._ My memory of you has fueled my hope and anticipation of our reunion, but every recollection or imagining of you was as thin as mist. Even in my dreams you lacked color and substance." 

Nicolò was slow to realize his mouth was hanging open, and he found it difficult to muster enough moisture to swallow down the lump in his throat. How could Yusuf have spent two decades thinking about him like that? What made him so special? "You dreamed of me? Why?" 

"Andy told me that we would be reunited. She kept insisting that I had to do many things, first: finish school, earn a reputation, learn how to use the magic, topple a kingdom." He rolled his eyes briefly with exaggerated annoyance. "But she said that all would be worth it to face you as an equal, and it is." 

"An equal? I'm an uneducated barbarian-- especially next to you!" Nicolò tried to squirm away, but Yusuf wouldn't let go of his head. He had just been a soldier when they first met, stupid and naive and part of a invading force that had sacked Yusuf's home. All he had done was swing a sword to protect Yusuf until Andromache showed up and was able to give the brave boy everything. And then Yusuf had been the one to make something of himself, to learn and rescue Andy the best he could, and now was a wizard who had been in the court of the Amra of Rûm. Nothing had really changed; Nicolò was _nothing_ next to Yusuf. 

"You have your charms," he said, giving the Zenouan a smile and a wink before he leaned forward to press his lips against Nicolò's. 

Nicolò's hands lifted to clutch at Yusuf's arms. He pulled the man closer, needing to feel as much of him as possible. The memories of the boy were long ago and far away; this was a new Yusuf. A handsome and sexy man who had rescued Nicolò from hell with gentle thoughtfulness. With a warm personality and warmer hands, brown eyes that sparked heat inside of Nicolò's body, and a mobile mouth that spoke of desire and love and quirked with fondness and humour. Letting himself accept Yusuf's kind regard and attentions was even more grounding to his soul than settling into the bath had been to his physical form. 

Yusuf put a knee on the bench next to Nicolò's thigh and then climbed onto his lap. Nicolò explored his skin from his biceps to his buttocks, while Yusuf guided the angle of Nicolò's head by his grip on his hair. The lift of his chin made him feel like he was paying tribute to a god. Unlike any other divine being Nicolò had ever tried to invoke, though, Yusuf's flesh weighed upon his, his chest and belly and cock nestling up along Nicolò's own and that heavy, molten feeling filled his body with a fire of lust. 

The nuzzling of Yusuf's rampant cock against his own made Nicolò toss his head back and gasp. Yusuf moved his mouth to his neck and moved his right hand to their laps. His fingers were long and strong as he wrapped them around Nicolò's dick. "Ah! Oh, Yusuf!" 

"Mmm, Nicolò. Nico. Say that you are mine." Yusuf's voice was deep and husky, almost a growl, as his teeth and tongue moved against the Zenouan's throat. His hand stroked Nicolò's cock from the base and palmed around the head in a way that made Nicolò thrust into his touch with a gasp. He repeated the movement and felt powerful as Nicolò's hips followed his movements as if his body was enchanted by the pleasure Yusuf was giving him. 

"Yours, yes," he answered, his agreement almost lost between moans. It had been years since Nicolò had felt like someone had wanted him this much. Yusuf's burning enthusiasm and intense desire lit something neglected and almost forgotten inside of Nicolò's body and soul, and he knew that he was digging his short, probably filthy nails into Yusuf's skin in his eagerness. 

Yusuf pulled his hand away just before Nico crested the peak of his climax and the Zenouan whined and buried his face in Yusuf's shoulder. "You stopped," he complained petulantly and then bit his teeth into his flesh like a punishment. 

"Sorry," Yusuf said. "I don't want this to end so quickly. We are finally together and I have waited for so long." 

Nicolò got his hand between them and stroked the glans of Yusuf's cock with his thumb. "This is only the first time," he promised. "We will do so much more." He lifted his head and kissed Yusuf's cheek before he licked the lobe of his ear and then blew on it teasingly. "Let us find ecstasy together now. I," his voice faltered with emotion, "No one has ever made me feel this way." 

He stood up, pulled Yusuf out of the water by his hand, and made him sit on the edge of the pool. Nicolò pushed Yusuf's thighs apart and knelt between them. The dense patch of curled hair at the core of him was a nest for his delicate jewels and stiff shaft. The thick curve of it made Nicky long to get his mouth on it. When he did, when Nicolò put his lips on that pulsing vein and gave the smooth shaft a lick, Yusuf made a noise as if the air had been wrenched out of him. Nicolò pulled one of his legs over his shoulder like he was shrugging on one sleeve of a robe and then cradled Yusuf's sac in his hand as he acquainted himself with his most intimate parts. He found the scent of Yusuf's body heady and the shape and texture of him gratifying, but it was the way the man moved and sounded that made Nicolò silently resolve to do this every chance Yusuf would grant him. 

Yusuf curled over him, his hands on Nicolò's head and his hips trying to resist their instinct to buck even further into his hot mouth. "Nico, you-- _fuck,_ " was all he could say before his orgasm was pulled out of him. 

It took him a long moment to regain awareness. The first thing Yusuf saw was Nicolò's face as the man used his hand on himself. Yusuf couldn't prevent himself from letting a bit of magic pull Nicolò's hand away. The Zenouan eyed the involuntary movement with surprise and alarm until he noticed Yusuf's expression. Nicolò relaxed and then pouted rather adorably. 

"If I am not permitted to do it, then you had better do something about it," he said. 

"Of course, my love." Yusuf caught his hand and pressed a kiss to his fingers. He shifted so that his lips were close to Nico's ear. "I promise you that I shall never you leave you unsatisfied. Though I may take my leisurely time exploring the ways to best bring you pleasure." 

Nicolò groaned. "I fear that I do not have the stamina for you to be leisurely tonight." A yawn punctuated his statement as if he needed that proof for Yusuf to take pity upon him. 

Yusuf helped him to his feet and draped a thin drying-cloth over him. "Tonight, then, I promise to be merciful," he said playfully as he led Nicolò toward his bed. The room itself was small, and the pile of cushions and fine cloths made a cosy nest that took up most of the space. Nicolò made a small, tired sound of appreciation as he lowered himself down and found a comfortable position. When his hand reached mindlessly for his still-needy staff, Yusuf put his palm on the flesh first. "Let me," he said, sprawling onto the bedding beside him. It hardly took much time at all to stroke Nicolò to completion and Yusuf's gaze greedily took in how he bit his lip and tossed his head and moaned and sighed. 

Nicolò's eyes were barely capable to pry open after his climax as he gave Yusuf a fond and contented smile. "Mmm, thanks," he said, lips and cheeks rosy with a flush of blood. 

Yusuf bent forward to press kisses on that bowed mouth and forehead before he stroked Nico's hair. "Sleep, my treasure. You have nothing to fear now that we are together again."


End file.
